Death's calling
by Fliaway
Summary: Death's calling - Dick has one chance, a single thread of hope to not be called further into the light. All he has to do is tell him a story - his story. Complete. Rated T.


Death's calling

It asked me what would I say to Death?

I answered, I'd tell him a story. A story about cartwheels and circuses, of unicycles and clowns, jugglers and bearded ladies, men who ate fire and women in beads, large gems on their fingers that told your future through crystals and cards. I'd tell him of the Gods I fought alongside, of the Amazon tribe, who taught that no - boys will not be boys, they will be held responsible for their actions - and wielded swords, long enough to cut down your throat to your frantic heart, yet still called them daggers. I'd tell them about the last of the kryptonians, of the "S" on his shirt that meant hope - and he was just that - an alien who was more human than man himself, who found he was not alone, soon greeted with family. Of a son and a daughter, a mother and father who did not hold his blood, but told him stories at night and held him so close as if they did. I'd tell him about a boy, who watched as his family was ripped apart by bullets, wore darkness as a cape and had the taste of vengeance on his lips. I liked it when those lips smiled, when I saw his eyes crinkle with laughter, I liked it even more when I found out that I was the boy who made the sight of it more frequent. I was a wonder - a wonder boy - who flew alongside these Gods, these aliens and a man who allowed a shimmer of light - a boy with a wild heart and a need to fly - into his life. I'd sit there, heart swelling in my chest as I tell him about my team that became more a family, sisters and brothers who shared the battlefield together. I'd tell him about the fire in their eyes, the smoke in their veins as they marched forward, matching each stride with each other, each bruise and scar. I'd tell him about the enemies, because what's a book about heroes without the enemies? The woman with toxic lips; man with half a face; the thieve and her wild feline friends; the crazed man with a smile that rattled your bones; and the woman with a jester's hat but was no fool, trailing her hands across the Prince of Crimes' face.

I'd tell It of the moments where I saw through their crimes, their twisted ways; when I gave the woman who brought men to their knees with a poison laced kiss a bouquet of Chocolate Cosmos after a spring morning spent skimming rock across lakes, seeing how the smallest of pebbles could create a ripple. Or the time the woman thief and I stole a night together, against time, instead of each other, finding through a concoction of chlorine and antiseptic and gunpowder and blood that they loved, in different ways, the same man. When I saw the girl with the jester's hat dangling her feet from the swings and joining her, finding that her smile didn't sent a shiver down my spine, but made my heart flip. I'd tell Death this, joined with my confusion at the time as I saw that everything was not just black and white - there was a silver lining that we played jump rope with.

I'd tell him this - of the nights where the sky looked on fire, when the world looked like it was going to be brought to a end and the only thing I could think of, the only thing that my hand extended to was not these Gods, not these aliens that could hoist cars above their heads, but hesitantly went to the man in black, hand trembling in his and I'd tell him how tired those eyes would come to look, as he stared, reminiscing the old days as he gazed the fire that kept his old bones warm. I'd tell him that those eyes never lost its hold - that still in his seventies and he'd have you grounded. They'd be a softness there too, you'd see it, I'd say, at every birthday, on every Christmas morning when he'd watched me build a snow man - the same every year with a black cape, cowl on head its and coal for its beady black eyes, each time I would fall - be pushed down, only to get back up I'd see that light, when I left for school for the first time, and when I stopped. Step away from the school gates. Ran back and threw myself into his embrace; you'd see it, that light, just like I am now.

_A big white light..._

So warm, so inviting.  
Enveloping my body, It asks me: "What will you say to Death, when you meet him?" Body stiff, curled, tight on the ground; body bloodied, lashes clumped together from tears. I am asked: "What will you say to Death?"

I answered- listening to my family, brothers, sisters, aunties and uncles, calling my name, to get up,  
to not leave them - _please_, don't leave them - _"Not today"._


End file.
